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THE    FIELD    QLASS 


GYPSYI NG 

G.    M. 


DENRltH 

CMUA    VWA. 


DENRICH     PRESS 

Chula    Vista,  California 

1917 


Copyright  1918 

by 
Denrich     Press 


& 


^ 


t 


)fl 


"GIPSYING" 


\<y 


perched  here  on  the  edfce  of  the  sea- 


I 


E  went  just  because, 
when  we  tried  to  leave 
him  in  the  lobby  of  the 
hotel,  he  had  smiled  with 
a  shade  of  wistfulness 
(discernible  to  the  ladies) 
and  said,  with  one  hand 
on  Gasoline's  shoulder,  "I 
shall  be  a  bit  lonely  out 
in  this  strange  and  ungod- 
ly country.  It  would 
make  me  very  happy  to 
have   you   all   here  with 


I  me. 


So  what  would  you? 
Every  Californian  has  a 
warm  spot  in  his  heart 
somewhere, — even  your 
real  estate  a&ent;  and  we 
feel  responsible  for  the 
tenderfoot.     Besides,    he 


The  Field  Gla 


ss 


was  a  Philadelpliian  and  a  very  superior 
bein&,  and  The  Cautious  Lady's  third 
cousin  by  marriage.  ("Some  close  re- 
lationship!" Gasoline  commented  lacon- 
ically. "Third  Cousin  must  feel  that 
he  is  in  the  bosom  of  his  family." 
Somehow  the  disrespectful  name  stuck, 
in  spite  of  The  Cautious  Lady's  reproof 
and  the  amused  protest  of  the  gentle- 
man in  question.) 

We  therefore  packed  our  suitcases 
and  drove  over  to  the  hotel,  trying, 
more  or  less  successfully  to  fei&n  the 
manner  of  millionaires.  "Only,"  said 
Gasoline,  "I  don't  like  to  be  taken  for 
the  chauffeur." 

At  dinner  that  ni&ht  VG  wished  to 
know  quite  suddenly  why  Third  Cousin 
thought  our  country  "ungodly." 

"Because,"  he  smiled,  "I  feel  it  in  my 
bones  that  I  am  &oing>  to  be  bewitched, 
totally  against  my  will  and  better  judg- 
ment. I  have  always  been  told  that 
Californians  were  liars;  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  expected  as  much  from  the  pre- 
posterous claims  in  your  advertising 
stuff.  No  spot  could  be  as  perfect  as 
you  say  this  is.  But  now  that  you  have 
&ot  me  here,  and  hustled  me  across  the 


The  Field   Glas 


bay  into  this  strip  of  loveliness,  a  para- 
dise of  trees  and  flowers  perched  here 
on  the  ed&e  of  the  sea,  where  by  all  the 
rules  of  nature  there  ou&ht  only  to  be 
sand  and  rocks,  I  be&in  to  suspect  that 
it  is  not  deception  that  you  practice,  but 
the  black  art." 

"There  is  a  sort  of  witchcraft  about 
southern  California, "  laughed  The 
Cautious  Lady.  "I  felt  it  when  I  first 
came.  But  years  a&o  I  ceased  to  stru&&le 
against  it.  It  doesn't  really  hurt  one, 
you  know." 

"So  you  like  the  hotel?"  The  Man  of 
Affairs  asked. 

Third  Cousin  spread  out  his  hands. 
"I  sit  here  in  hopeless  admiration," 
he  said.  "We  simply  do  not  do  this 
sort  of  thin&  in  the  east.  There  a  hotel 
is  a  hotel,  and  here — " 

"And  here,"  The  Man  of  Affairs 
went  on,  "it  is  more  like  one  of  your 
best  clubs  back  home, — at  least  this  one 
is.  You  do  not  &et  the  hotel  atmosphere 
at  all,  you  observe." 

"Why  no,"  he  agreed,  "neither  in  the 
perfect  service  you  &et  nor  in  the  whole 
effect  of  the  place.  Just  take  this  room, 
for  example.     What   wild   whim  ever 


The  Field  Glas 


prompted  a  business  man  to  spend  on 
this  woodwork  the  thousands  that  it 
must  have  cost?  The  thought  is  stag&er- 
in&.  And  all  for  droves  of  people  who 
doubtless  seldom  look  above  their 
plates." 

We  sat  at  one  end  of  the  lon&  dining 
room,  the  door  by  which  we  had  enter- 
ed preposterously  far  away.  VG  raised 
her  eyes  to  the  solid  paneling  of  the 
walls  and  ceiling,  darkening  slowly 
with  a&e.    "It  is  rather  fine,"  she  said. 

We  who  live  in  San  Die&o  take  Hotel 
del  Coronado  as  a  matter  of  course. 
("Perfect  mouthful  of  a  name!"  Third 
Cousin  had  grumbled  with  a  wry  face 
as  we  came  over  on  the  ferry.)  It  lies 
spread  out  across  the  bay,  self-satisfied, 
resplendent,  something  to  be  accepted 
placidly  like  the  courthouse  or  the  street- 
car system.  We  know  that  it  is  the 
center  of  our  social  doings;  that  the 
newspapers  would  pine  and  languish 
without  it.  We  take  it  as  a  matter  of 
course  that  our  charity  balls  should  be 
held  there  and  our  fashionable  musicales; 
that  the  place  should  swarm  delightfully 
at  all  times  with  youn&  officers  and  old 
officers;  that  the  ferry  should  be  filled 


The  Field  GJas 


with  the  bi&  silent  cars  of  wealthy  peo- 
ple stopping  at  the  hotel,  leaving  scant 
room  for  our  ice  wagons  and  little  Fords; 
that  all  the  youn&  people  in  town  who 
are  smart  or  wish  to  be  flock  over  to 
Coronado  to  watch  the  tennis,  &olf ,  and 
polo,  in  the  happy  belief  that  they  are 
thereby  rubbing  elbows  with  the  smart 
set;  that  all  year  through  the  newspapers 
should  chronicle  the  arrival  and  publish 
in  delightfully '  informal  fashion  the 
doin&s  of  all  manner  of  exhiliratin& 
people,f rom  English  noblemen  to  Indiana 
novelists  and  sportsmen  from  Honolulu. 
But  as  to  the  place  itself  and  what  it  is 
really  like,  we  seldom  &ive  it  a  thought. 

Something  of  this  we  conveyed  to 
Third  Cousin,  as  well  as  the  perfunctory 
information  that  the  hotel  had  been  built 
some  thirty  years  a&o, — when  San  Die&o 
was  still  a  stru&&lin&,  booming  little  piece 
of  insignificance, — with  &reat  difficulty 
and  at  a  stupendous  cost;  and  that  ever 
since  then  the  town  had  been  endeavor- 
ing to  live  up  to  it. 

Third  Cousin  laughed.  "It  is  doin& 
very  well,"  he  conceded. 

It  was  in  the  tea  garden  that  afternoon 
that  he  asked  a  question  that  all  tourists 


"  —  you  can  walk- 


The  Field  Glass 


ask  as  a  matter  of  form.  (The  tea  garden, 
by  the  way,  moved  him  to  genuine  rav- 
ing,. "A  perfect  Japanese  fairyland!"  he 
exclaimed.  "How  were  they  ever  ahle  to 
make  a  thin&  so  exquisite?")  "And 
what  do  people  do  here  in  their  spare 
moments?"  he  asked. 

We  replied  somewhat  in  unison. 

"You  can  swim,  in  the  plunge,  the 
ocean,  and  the  bay,"  I  be&an;  "you  have 
only  to  cross  the  road  from  one  to  the 
other.  And  you  can  &o  yachting,  rowing, 
canoeing,  motor  boating,  bi-planing,,  or 
aqua-planing  on  the  bay — " 

'  'Or  &o  in  for  fishing, ' '  went  on  Gasoline, 
"all  kinds,  from  dabbling  off  the  pier 
here  to  real  deep  sea  fishing  out  beyond 
the  point.  Tuna,  and  all  that." 

"And  you  can  walk  and  dance," VG 
went  on  with  the  list,  "or  &o  over  to  the 
country  club,  and  play  polo,  &olf,  and 
tennis.  We  have  some  corking  matches. 
McLaughlin—" 

"Or  ride  horseback,"  I  droned  on. 

Third  Cousin  raised  his  hands  in  dis- 
may. "My  dear  children!"  he  protested. 
"I  am  super-middle-a&ed.  These  things 
are  not  for  me." 

VG  started  to  tell  him  crisply  that  if 


■to  dawdle  in  the  checkered  sunli&ht  of  the  patio- 


The  Field  01a$$ 


he  would  use  his  eyes  a  bit  he  would  see 
that  in  this  part  of  the  world  they  are 
for  much  older  men;  hut  The  Cautious 
Lady  interposed  soothingly,  "Or  you  can 
&o  over  to  San  Die&o — it  takes  only 
twenty  minutes —  and  shop,  or  visit  the 
Exposition  and  the  parks,  and  attend 
concerts  and  the  theatre,  and  some  of 
the  really  fine  lectures — " 

Her  last  word  started  The  Man  of 
Affairs.  "Or,"  he  said  hastily,  "you  can 
lounge  around  the  hotel  ri&ht  here.  It  s 
darned  comfortable,  you  know."  He 
loved  to  dawdle  in  the  checkered  sun- 
light of  the  patio  with  a  magazine  and  a 
comfortable  chair.  "You  can  read  here, 
and  write  letters  in  some  peace.  Or  sit 
on  the  verandah  and  listen  to  the  orches- 
tra. Then,  when  you  want  to,  you  can  &o 
into  the  casino  for  bowling  and  billiards. 
Just  make  yourself  at  home  generally, 
you  know.  This  is  one  place  where  you 
are  allowed  to,  and  nobody  bothers  or 
stands  around  staring." 

We  lapsed  into  silence,  more  or  less 
winded.  But  still  Third  Cousin  look- 
ed vaguely  unsatisfied.  After  a  pause 
Gasoline  remarked  mildly,  "And  of 
course  you  can  always  motor.' ' 


The  Field  Glass 


Third  Cousin  turned,  a  &leam  of  sud- 
den interest  in  his  eye.  "Motor?  Yes,"  he 
exclaimed,  "but  is  there  any  place  to  &o?" 

Is  there  any  place  to  &o,  with  over 
four  thousand  miles  of  the  most  beautiful 
roads  in  the  country  at  our  very  door! 
We  shouted  aloud  in  the  joy  of  our  dis- 
covery. He  was  a  kindred  spirit.  We 
could  &et  out  the  car  and  take  to  the 
trail  a&ain,  showing  him  our  old  haunts, 
exploring  new  ones,  making  him  an  ex- 
cuse for  the  thin&  we  wanted  most  to  do. 


'—and  take  to  the  trail  afcain- 


II 

OUT  by  the  old  mission  we  sat  in 
the  weeds  at  the  top  of  the  hill 
and  &azed  at  the  poor  tumbledown 
thin&.  The  first  of  the  chain,  it  has  a 
ri&ht,  I  suppose,  to  its  look  of  unhappy 
old  a&e.  The  crumbling  walls  still  retain 
some  measure  of  their  charm;  but  unless 
the  restorer  hurries  he  will  find  only  a 
heap  of  adobe. 

We  were  on  our  way  to  Linda  Vista, 
and  had  only  paused  a  moment  for  a 
glimpse  at  this,  San  Die&o's  oldest  land- 
mark. Once  more  on  out  through  Murphy 
Canon,  we  told  Third  Cousin  something 
of  San  Die&o's  enthusiasm  over  the  can- 
tonment. At  first  it  was  a  bit  of  a 
disappointment.  Camp  Kearny  then  was 
only  a  &reat  smear  of  dust  against  the 
sky,  darkened  by  the  swearing  workmen 
and  lon&  lines  of  mules.  By  October,  we 
were  told,  it  would  be  transformed,  and 
thousands  of  youn&  Americans  mi&ht 
be  seen  training  to  serve  their  colors. 


The  Field  Glass 


Handkerchiefs  to  noses,  we  departed 
ri&ht  gladly,  and  turned  over  to  the  coast 
and  La  Jolla,  where  Third  Cousin  was 
entranced  with  the  cliffs  and  dark  caves. 
The  latter,  he  said,  were  not  unlike  the 
Blue  Grotto  at  Capri.  We  had  heard 
this  comparison  before,  hut  it  always 
pleases  us.  Standing  hi&h  up  on  one  of 
the  cliffs,  we  watched  the  thrones  of 
bathers  in  the  sheltered  cove  below.  La 
Jolla  has  a  little  colony  that  is  loyal  all 
through  the  year;  but  in  summer  the 
place  swarms. 

Hurrying  back  to  the  hotel,  woefully 
late  for  lunch,  we  were  almost  annoyed 
at  Third  Cousin's  interest  in  the  adobe 
hut  and  ruins  scattered  through  Old 
Town.  We  did  point  out  to  him  the  old 
Estudillo  house,  where  Ramona  was 
married,  but  regretted  our  &raciousness 
the  next  moment,  for  he  would  stop. 
While  the  rest  of  us  sat  outside  and 
laughed  at  the  sad-eyed  Mexican  chil- 
dren that  at  a  word  of  encouragement 
clambered  happily  over  the  machine, 
The  Cautious  Lady  took  him  in  and 
showed  him  the  old  Spanish  house  and 
garden,  typical  of  California  in  another 
day  and  a&e.  Though  the  place  is  some- 


The  Field   Glass 


thin&  of  a  museum  now,  it  has  not  lost  its 
atmosphere.  It  was  quite  as  interesting 
to  him  as  Tia  Juana,  the  little  Mexican 
town  across  the  border,  where  we  took 
him  not  many  days  later.  (The  bumpy, 
rutty  roads  there  may  have  discolored 
his  vision.)  He  &ave  only  a  passing  glance 
at  the  bi&  race  track  where,  during  the 
season,  there  is  a  &ood  bit  of  gaiety,  and 
perchance  wickedness,  of  a  sort.  All  the 
way  back  to  the  hotel  we  told  him  lurid 
stories  of  opium  smu£&lin&  and  the  dark 
midnight  activity  of  the  police.  But  he 
was  unimpressed,  and  showed  more  in- 
terest in  the  idea  of  a  bath  and  a  change 
of  linen. 

"This  hotel  is  so  peaceful  and  quiet 
that  I  would  hardly  know  another  &uest 
was  here,"  he  said  contentedly,  later  in 
the  evening,  as  he  joined  us  in  the 
patio. 

"That  is  partly  because  of  size,1'  said 
The  Cautious  Lady.  "Here,  for  instance, 
there  may  be  a  dozen  or  more  people  in 
this  court  besides  ourselves  for  all  we 
know."  As  a  matter  of  fact  we  heard  a 
woman's  occasional  lau&h  from  the  other 
side  of  the  bi&  garden,  and  the  &low  of 
a  ci&ar  through  the  trees.   But  our  little 


entranced  with  the  cliffs- 


The  Field  Glass 


&roup  was  left  unnoticed  and  undis- 
turbed. 

"I  take  it  that  the  place  is  patronized 
mainly  by  elderly  people?"  Third  Cousin 
queried  after  a  time. 

"Come  into  the  ballroom  and  see,1' 
VG  su^ested. 

It  was  Saturday  and  there  was  danc- 
ing. Elderly  people  most  certainly  there 
were,  fox  trotting  and  sitting  in  the  sun- 
parlor  surrounding  the  hu&e  circular 
floor;  but  there  were  more  pretty  &irls 
and  tall  youn&  officers. 

Third  Cousin  showed  so  much  interest 
in  the  latter  that  we  took  him  next  day 
up  to  the  naval  training  camp  at  the 
Exposition.  As  we  went  over  on  the 
ferry  we  pointed  out  to  him  North 
Island,  lyin&  across  the  bay  from  San 
Die&o,  and  told  him  of  the  government 
aviation  school  there,  and  of  how  a  vast 
deal  of  attention  was  bein&  centered  on 
the  place  in  war  circles.  Social  circles, 
too,  I  mi&ht  have  added,  but  thought 
better  of  it.  At  all  hours  the  hum  of  the 
aeroplanes  can  be  heard,  flying  over  the 
bay  and  city.  San  Die&ans  no  longer  so 
much  as  raise  their  eyes  to  watch  them. 

The  whole  town  swarms  with  soldiers 


The  Field  Glass 


and  sailors;  for,  as  VG  remarked,  there 
are  five  bi&  camps  of  them  here,  all 
within  a  radius  of  twenty  miles.  Those 
that  are  quartered  in  the  Exposition 
grounds  will  not  soon  forget  their  luck. 
Third  Cousin  wandered  through  the 
place  for  hours;  we  could  not  pull  him 
away.  He  seemed  to  find  all  San  Die&o's 
parks  charming,  perhaps  because  they 
are  not  formal  or  too  highly  cultivated. 
"You  are  wise  not  to  try  to  do  the  sort 
of  thin&  that  we  do  in  the  eastern 
parks,"  he  said;  "for  though  you  could 
do  it  quite  as  well  and  perhaps  better, 
we  could  not  do  this  at  all." 

His  remark  somehow  reminded  us 
of  Grossmont,  where  most  certainly 
people  have  done  something  unlike 
the  east.  There  celebrities  do  not  flock 
together  and  build  their  perches  on  a 
ru&&ed  mountain,  hi&h  above  comfort- 
able mankind,  putting  themselves  to  no 
end  of  bother  just  for  the  sake  of  the 
view.  Without  more  ado  we  drove  out 
with  him  and  made  the  climb,  noting 
that  Madame  Schumann-Heink  peered 
from  her  back  window  as  we  passed. 
The  road  is  &ood,  and  one  ascends  and 
descends   by    different    routes,   a   fact 


The  Field  Glass 


which  cheered  the  Cautious  Lady  more 
than  a  little. 

At  the  summit  we  must  needs  climb 
the  last  hi&h  boulder,  &lad  of  the  hand 
rail  that  helped  us  up  the  slippery  thin&. 
From  the  top  we  saw  the  country  spread 
for  miles  on  all  sides  of  us;  the  lovely 
little  lotus-filled  lake  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  on  through  El  Cajon  valley  to  the 
mountains  beyond;  and,  to  the  west 
and  south,  the  ocean  and  the  Mexican 
hills. 

"I  should  like  to  come  up  here  some- 
time during  a  heavy  rain,"  VG  mused 
at  length,  eyes  half  closed.  Gasoline 
started  the  car.  'You'll  come  on  foot 
then,"  he  said  grimly. 


■that  helped  us  up  the  slippery  thin&." 


'—still  standing  sturdily  on  the  highest  bit  of  ground" 


Ill 

TH  E  moon  was  full  the  ni&ht  we 
saw  the  youn&  theosophists  play 
"A  Midsummer  Ni&ht's  Dream." 
The  brilliant  lights  of  the  little  temple 
that  served  as  sta&e  were  hardly  needed. 
We  had  seen  the  play  before  in  this 
same  luminous  setting,  with  these  same 
beautiful  youn&  actors;  but  we  sat 
forward  tensely  in  our  seats  until  the 
last  fairy  had  danced  out  of  si&ht  down 
the  canon.  Not  till  then  did  Third  Cousin 
move.  "I  can  never  see  it  a&ain  under  a 
roof,"  he  said. 

The  Greek  theatre  is  smaller  than  the 
hu&e  one  at  Berkeley;  but  it  is,  if  possi- 
ble, even  more  exquisitely  beautiful  in 
its  setting  of  vivid  &reen,  with  the  ocean 
booming   up   through   the   canon.  The 
international  headquarters  of  the  theoso- 
phists are  at  Point  Loma;  —  beautiful 
:>uildin&s,  and  acres  of  still  more  beauti- 
ful grounds.   There  they  conduct  their 
schools  and  colleges  and  brin&  up  their 


The  Field  Glass 


children,  tending  quite  strictly  to  tkeir 
own  business,  receiving  all  visitors 
graciously  and  freely,  but  keeping  their 
own  counsel  pretty  much. 

"Let  their  tenets  alone,"  the  Cautious 
Lady  replied  to  Third  Cousin's  first 
question.  "They  help  to  make  life 
lovely." 

As  we  waited  for  the  lon&  line  of 
machines  ahead  of  us  to  &et  into  motion, 
he  cleared  his  throat  and  spoke  almost 
hesitatingly.  "Would  you  think  me  very 
much  of  an  old  fool,"  he  said,  "  if  I  asked 
you  to  drive  out  to  the  end  of  the  point 
with  me  a&ain  tonight?  " 

We  had  taken  him  there  one  afternoon 
a  week  or  more  before,  and  his  very 
silence  had  shown  the  depth  of  his  im- 
pression. The  experience  moves  one,  but 
not  to  words.  On  three  sides  of  the  hu&e 
cliff  the  water  had  flittered  in  the  sun, 
an  illimitable  stretch  of  blue.  Across 
the  bay  the  city  had  risen  in  the  pale 
tints  of  a  Jules  Guerin  print,  the  moun- 
tains behind  it  piled  ran&e  upon  ran&e 
until  the  Cuyamacas  faded  into  haze. 

Tonight  the  road  was  bewitched  by 
moonlight,  and  the  old  lighthouse,  still 
standing  sturdily  on  the  highest  bit  of 


The  Field  Glass 


ground,  seemed  pure  white  against  the 
blackness  of  the  cliffs.  Its  modern  suc- 
cessor winks  its  colored  lights  out  over 
the  water  from  a  spot  close  down  to  the 
shore,  at  the  foot  of  the  point. 

We  stood  at  the  ed&e  of  Suicide  Cliff 
(some  dark  story  must  &o  with  the  name) 
and  looked  down  over  the  bay.  A  steam- 
er was  rounding  the  point,  and  the 
harbor  was  full  of  lighted  craft  of  various 
sorts.  We  had  little  difficulty  in  picking 
out  the  hotel  and  the  lon&  string  of 
twinkling  lights  that  meant  Tent  City. 
In  the  other  direction,  far  out  in  the 
ocean,  we  could  just  see  the  dark  specks 
of  fishing  boats, —  a  &reat  fleet  of  them. 
Next  morning,  if  we  chanced  to  wake 
early  and  glance  out  of  our  bedroom 
windows,  we  mi&ht  see  them  coming  in 
through  the  fb&. 

We  were  almost  home  before  Third 
Cousin  spoke.  "You  have  not  exaggerat- 
ed that  drive, "he  said;  and  added, perhaps 
half  a  mile  farther,  "I  suppose  you  would 
if  you  could." 


•celebrated  its  hundredth  anniversary  that  month." 


IV 

LITTLE  Pala  Mission  celebrated  its 
hundredth  anniversary  that  month. 
For  three  days  and  nights  the 
Indians  and  their  white  friends  prayed, 
feasted,  and  danced  in  honor  of  the  event, 
while  newspaper  reporters  walked  ahout 
and  moving  picture  men  turned  their 
cameras. 

All  day  lon&  we  had  rubbed  elbows 
with  dirty  Indians,  sticky,  perspiring, 
smelling  frightfully  of  garlic  and  other 
strange  Mexican  things;  first  in  the  rude 
little  chapel  where  rather  Doyle  con- 
ducted the  service,  the  Indians  kneeling 
devoutly  on  the  floor,  while  two  dozen 
or  more  Americans,  some  fashionable, 
some  curious,  others  sympathetic,  stood 
in  a  &roup  by  the  door;  then,  at  the 
barbecue,  where  The  Cautious  Lady 
shuddered  and  Third  Cousin  was  amused, 
but  at  least  the  Indians  and  their  dofes 
were  happy;  and  later,  when  Juan  Sotelo 
Culac,  the  Rincon  Indian  feather  dancer, 


The  Field  Glass 


did  his  la  ta-ta-huila  in  the  middle  o£  a 
dusty  circle  of  stamping,,  &rowlin&,  chant- 
ing Indians,  pressing  forward  in  one 
&reat  breath-destroying  mass. 

Warm  we  were,  and  dirty;  but  the 
experience  was  worth  such  slight  dis- 
comforts, —  though  The  Cautious  Lady 
pronounced  the  baby  show  a  distinct 
disappointment,  and  took  more  interest 
in  photographing  the  indifferent  grand- 
mother of  one  of  the  sticky  contestants. 

We  drove  down  to  Vista  that  ni&ht; 
the  seventy  miles  into  San  Die&o  would 
have  too  lon&  delayed  the  hot  wa- 
ter and  soap  we  needed.  At  the  clean 
cool  inn  we  tumbled  into  bed  like  sleepy 
puppies,  and  ate  next  morning  a  well- 
nifeh  incapacitating  breakfast. 

we  had  draped  Third  Cousin  up  to 
Pala  without  apology  or  excuse,  setting 
our  alarms  for  four  o'clock,  and  hurry- 
ing out  in  the  chill  of  early  morning  in 
order  to  be  in  time  for  hi&h  mass  at  the 
quaint  little  chapel.  We  expected  him  to 
be  interested  but  hardly  enthusiastic; 
for  there  is  nothing  spectacularly  beauti- 
ful about  the  trip.  But  something  of  the 
ma&ic  in  the  clear  air,  or  the  sweet  tan& 
of  the  shrubs  &rowin&  in  the  winding 


r*pr  "%r 


"—indifferent  grandmother  of  a  sticky  contestant.' 


TJie  Field  Glass 


river  valleys,  or  the  dense  tangle  of 
California  growth  throu&h  which  the 
road  sometimes  cut,  must  have  &ot  into 
his  hlood;  for  all  the  next  day  he  asked 
questions  ahout  our  back  country  and 
the  mountains. 

Since  he  was  really  interested,  we 
took  him  over  to  San  Luis  Rey,  at  one 
time  the  most  flourishing  of  the  missions. 
Though  it  has  been  restored  and  is  quite 
prosperous,  it  is  still  beautiful;  and  the 
graveyard  has  happily  been  left  un- 
touched. 

A  barefooted  Mexican  friar  guided  us 
through  the  building,  showing  us  a  few 
of  the  relics  of  the  place,  a  little  book 
of  Father  Peyri's,  and  some  of  the  hu£e 
old  choir  missals,  beautifully  illuminated 
on  parchment,  and  heavily  studded  with 
brass.  ("They  look  like  hope  chests!"  I 
heard  VG  hiss  into  The  Cautious  Lady's 
ear.  Our  &uide  caught  the  last  words 
and  smiled  pleasantly.  uYe-es,  a  small 
trunk,"  he  agreed.) 

Brother  Giles  was  most  courteous  and 
patient  with  us,  a  rather  talkative  and 
heedless  &roup  of  pilgrims,  I  am  afraid. 

That  ni&ht,  back  once  more  at  the  ho- 
tel, as  we  drank  our  coffee  in  the  lobby 


Brother  Giles  almost  escaped  from  the  picture. 


The  Field  Glass 


and  listened  to  the  music  coming  from 
the  mezzanine  floor  above,  we  wondered 
what  had  become  of  Third  Cousin.  He 
had  disappeared  since  dinner,  and  it 
was  not  until  late  in  the  evening  that 
he  joined  us  a&ain. 

"I  have  just  made  a  most  extraordinary 
discovery,"  he  said,  seeking,  to  surprise 
us  with  something  we  had  known  all 
along,.  "The  gentleman  I  have  been  talk- 
ing to  so  much  is  John  Hernan,  the 
manager  of  this  hotel.  Such  a  thin&  had 
not  occurred  to  me.  A  most  interesting 
man,  with  original  ideas  about  his  work; 
I  like  him.  Did  you  know  that  the 
Montessori  school  here  at  the  hotel  is 
his  own  project?" 

"That  is  only  one  of  the  many  things 
he  does  for  the  youngsters,"  The  Cautious 
Lady  replied.  "I  wish  that  you  could  be 
here  in  the  winter  and  see  the  Christmas 
tree  that  he  has  for  all  the  children  in 
Coronado,  small  Japanese  and  negroes 
as  well  as  poor  little  rich  girls'.  The  de- 
light they  take  in  being,  all  mixed  up 
together  is  amusing.  As  a  rule  I  pity 
hotel  children.  Poor  little  things!  Rest- 
less, bored,  missing  all  the  wholesome 
side  of  life.  But  here  it  is  very  different; 


The  Field  GJas 


the  little  ones  can  be  quite  happy  and 
healthy.  Really,  I  can  truthfully  say  that 
I  have  never  seen  another  hotel  where 
I  would  be  willing  to  keep  a  small  child 
for  a  week." 

"Yet  the  little  pests  never  seem  to  be 
around,"  The  Man  of  Affairs  breathed 
thankfully. 

"Good  enough  reason  why,"  VG 
answered  with  indignation.  "They  are 
off  enjoying  themselves  where  they 
can't  be  contaminated  by  &rown-ups." 

"A  hotel  manager  with  ideals," 
Third  Cousin  mused,  still  thinking  of 
Mr.  Hernan. 

"You  will  find  a  few  such  here  in 
California,"  The  Cautious  Lady  told  him; 
"men  who  &et  the  best  out  of  their  work. 
They  are  often  of  widely  different  types. 
I  hope  you  can  meet  more  of  them 
before  you  &o  back;  Frank  Miller  of  the 
Mission  Inn,  Edward  Davis  at  Mesa 
Grande.  They  are  sometimes  scholars 
as  well  as  gentlemen." 

Third  Cousin  was  impatient  to  be&in 
preparations  for  our  back  country  wan- 
derings (albeit  hopelessly  ignorant  in  the 
matter  of  machines  and  California  trav- 
el); and  with  the  aid  of  road  maps  secured 


The  Field  Glass 


from  Mr.  Hernan  (who  is  more  than 
kind  to  the  motor  enthusiasts  stopping 
at  the  hotel,  —  and  there  are  many  of 
them,  asking  for  all  sorts  of  favors;  the 
hiring,  of  machines  for  them  at  the  &ar- 
a£e,  the  making  of  reservations  at  the 
various  wayside  inns),  we  laid  plans  and 
discussed  routes  far  into  the  ni&ht. 


V 

WE  &ot  into  the  mountains  lon& 
before  the  first  freshness  of  the 
morning  was  &one.  After  one 
&ood  &rade,  that  lifted  us  suddenly  hi&h 
ahove  the  placid  farming  country  we  had 
just  come  through,  we  sniffed  a  heady 
freshness  in  the  air  that  made  us  happy 
in  the  mere  feel  of  the  road  beneath  us 
and  the  spread  of  the  sky  ahove.  To 
rush  pell-mell  at  our  wanderings  in  this 
headlong  fashion  is  not  much  like  the 
feypsyin&  of  our  sometime  ancestors. 
But  perhaps  the  spirit  of  the  thin&  is 
less  modernized  than  the  flesh. 

Stopping  at  the  Willows  to  fill  our 
thermos  bottles  at  the  spring  and  ex- 
change jokes  with  the  &ood  natured 
Walkers,  we  cast  an  appreciative  eye 
at  the  dense  shade  of  the  bi&  oaks;  but 
it  could  not  tempt  us  from  the  open 
road.  On  up  Veijas  &rade  we  hurried 
quite  heedlessly,  little  caring  what  hap- 
pened if  we  but  made  the  real  mountains 


—  in  the  mere  feel  of  the  road  beneath  us- 


The  Field  Glass 


and  the  bi&  trees  first.  I  suppose  The 
Cautious  Lady  cared;  hut  nothing  did 
happen. 

There  may  he  those  who  cannot  sense 
the  almost  delirious  charm  of  Descanso 
and  the  Cuyamaca  mountains.  Poor  weak 
spirits;  let  them  &o!  I  imagine  San  Die&o 
is  full  of  old  salts  who  cannot  hear  to 
leave  the  sea  for  an  hour.  But  there  are 
some  few  living  creatures  ohsessed  with 
a  craving  for  hoth  extremes.  They  ou&ht 
surely  to  live  in  San  Die&o,  where  the 
ocean  is  in  si&ht,  and  the  mountains  in 
reach  of  their  feet. 

There  are  several  bi&  tree-shadowed 
ranches  at  Descanso,  where  one  may 
stop  for  an  hour  or  a  month.  (Usually 
the  former  time,  with  lon&in&s  after  the 
latter.)  But  Mr.  Hernan  had  had  a  lunch 
put  up  for  us  at  the  hotel,  —  such  an  ex- 
travagant, toothsome  lunch;  and  we  knew 
quite  well  that,  no  matter  how  lon&  we 
mi&ht  be  delayed  by  engine  trouble  or 
possible  blowouts,  we  would  eat  at 
Cuyamaca.  As  a  matter  of  fact  we 
reached  the  lake  quite  easily  by  noon; 
but,  wavering  helplessly  amon&  a  dozen 
or  more  tempting  spots,  we  finally  kept 
on  to  a  certain  hi&h,  not-far-distant  place 


The  Field  Glass 


we  knew,  where  one  may  sit  in  the  dry 
&rass  heside  the  road  and  look  down  on 
the  Salton  Sea,  a  mere  shimmer  in  the 
distance.  We  sat  there,  peaceful,  loath 
to  move,  until  driven  forth  by  a  sudden 
stream  of  hu&e  red  ants.  They  would,  I 
am  convinced,  turn  up  inopportunely 
in  Paradise! 

Loving  the  Cuyamacas  too  much  to 
deface  them  or  risk  the  destruction  of 
even  one  old  sycamore  or  towering 
pine,  we  burned  all  our  trash,  forcing 
Gasoline  to  squat  in  the  road  with  the 
canvas  water  ba&  until  the  last  ember 
of  our  lovely  lunch  had  been  extin- 
guished. (We  tell  this  not  to  laud 
ourselves,  but  to  encourage  others  to 
like  uprightness!) 

We  passed  through  Julian,  the  apple 
country, —  but  it  was  too  late  for  the 
blossoms  and  too  early  for  the  apples, — 
and  stopped  for  fresh  water  at  Pine 
Hills  Lod&e,  where  we  had  difficulty  in 
&ettin&  VG  away;  for  she  scurried 
about  madly  with  sketchbook  and 
kodak,  in  despair  at  bein&  torn  from 
so  much  &ood  copy.  (She  says  that 
word  does  not  apply  to  an  artist's 
profession.) 


The  Field  Glass 


It  is  heartbreaking  to  be  dashed  help- 
lessly from  one  delight  to  another.  The 
way  to  travel  through  this  country  is 
on  foot,  with  a  pack  mule  somewhere 
discreetly  in  the  background.  Neither 
Gasoline  nor  The  Man  of  Affairs  agrees 
in  this  view.  And  Third  Cousin  looked 
scornful.  "Walk,"  he  protested,  "in  a 
country  like  this?  Why,  it's  a  motor 
paradise.  I  had  no  idea  that  we 
would  find  such  perfect  mountain  roads. 
Poway — that  is  the  name  of  the  amaz- 
ing &rade  you  took  me  over  last  week, 
is  it  not? — is  a  triumph  of  engineering." 

To  tell  the  truth,  we  are  proud  of 
our  roads  in  this  county. 

We  had  half  thought  of  &oin&  on  to 
Warner's  Hot  Springs  that  ni&ht,  though 
the  ladies  voted  determinedly  for  Mesa 
Grande.  Gasoline,  with  a  masculine  de- 
sire to  explore  new  fields,  held  out  for 
Warner's  until  I  remarked  somewhat 
disingenuously  that  Mesa  Grande  was 
cherry  country. 

We  &ot  to  Powam  Lod&e  in  the  lon&- 
shadow  time  of  the  afternoon,  when 
everything  was  glorified,  and  quite  fell 
in  love  before  we  had  time  to  feet  out 
of  the  car  with  Prince,  the  fat  old  collie, 


'—scurried  about  madly—' 


The  Field  Glass 


who  keeps  his  nose  skinned  di&&in&  for 
squirrels,  but  takes  time  to  meet  every 
&uest  with  &rave  hospitality.  Fine  old 
fellow;  it  would  be  unendurable  not  to 
find  him  there.  But  that  is  how  one  feels 
about  everything  at  Powam  Lod&e. 

Third  Cousin  stared  incredulously 
at  the  polished  floors,  the  beautiful  ru&s, 
the  &rand  piano,  the  books  and  maga- 
zines. To  find  hot  and  cold  water  and  a 
perfect  dining  room  service  at  a  lod&e 
some  sixty  miles  in  the  mountains  as- 
tounded him.  "I  wish  you  could  see 
some  of  the  country  inns  we  have  to 
put  up  with  at  home! "  he  exclaimed. 

He  had  protested  warnin&ly  against 
bein&  kept  overnight  at  "some  miserable 
shack  of  a  hotel".  "I  think  you  can  be 
comfortable  at  Powam  Lod&e,"  The  Man 
of  Affairs  had  replied  mildly.  We 
explained  in  due  time  one  of  the  pecul- 
iarities of  southern  California,  the  fact 
that  scattered  throughout  the  country, 
however  far  one  may  penetrate,  there 
are  inns  or  public  ranch  houses,  comfort- 
able, clean,  hospitable, — some  of  them 
masterpieces  of  ima&ination,?as  at  Mesa 
Grande. 

When  we  went  up  to  our  rooms  that 


The  Field   Glass 


nig>ht  we  found  in  each  of  them  baskets 
of  the  bi&  red  mountain  cherries,  with 
cards  bearing  our  names,  the  ^ifts  of 
the  owner  and  his  charming  wife.  Third 
Cousin  was  speechless.  'Where  do 
people  learn  to  do  such  gracious  thin&s," 
he  cried.  "Is  there  something  in  the  air 
here  that  makes  them  &row  differently, 
or  is  it  really  ma&ic?" 

I  should  have  eaten  those  cherries 
had  I  died  for  it! 

Mr.  Davis  is  the  Indian  man  of  the 
county;  not  because  he  isn't  a  perfectly 
upright  American,  but  because  he,  more 
than  any  other  not  of  their  own  race, 
knows  the  •  Indians  and  understands 
them,  and  can  make  them  come  to  him 
and  obey  like  little  children.  One  can 
learn  much  of  history  and  of  psychology 
at  his  lod&e. 

Considerably  before  we  were  ready 
to  leave  we  took  to  the  road  a&ain,  and 
were  plunged  forthwith  onto  an  aston- 
ishing &rade  of  such  surpassing  loveli- 
ness that  The  Cautious  Lady's  natural 
fears  were  lost  in  delight,  and  only 
once  did  she  recollect  herself  in  time 
to  &et  out  and  walk  over  a  bad  turn. 
Gasoline    was    unnecessarily    amused. 


The  Field  Glass 


He  acted  as  if  he,  and  not  the  Almighty, 
had  put  something  over  on  her. 

At  the  foot  of  the  &rade,  when  we 
had  crossed  the  Santa  Ysabel  creek,  we 
stopped  to  let  Gasoline  rest.  He  had 
driven  us  at  a  snail's  pace,  with  his  foot 
on  the  brake,  for  fourteen  lon&  miles. 
Those  who  are  poor-spirited  and  craven 
and  prefer  smooth  comfort  to  esthetic 
delight  may  fco  to  Mesa  Grande  by  an- 
other route! 

We  went  on  down  through  Ramona, 
a  hot  little  hole  (beg&in&  the  forgiveness 
of  the  inhabitants),  and  the  dense  tangle 
of  San  Pasqual  canon  beyond,  where 
Kit  Carson's  men  fought  their  battle 
with  the  Mexicans;  a  wild  spot,  full  of 
poison  oak  and  rattlers,  mayhap,  but 
lovely! 

We  did  not  stop  at  Escondido,  a 
thriving  little  town  in  the  middle  of  a 
pretty  valley,  but  went  on  to  Vista  for 
lunch  (we  are  &ettin&  into  the  habit  of 
eating  there),  with  an  eye  to  the  cool 
breeze  that  always  filters  up  that  valley. 

You  see,  we  had  gradually  been 
working  back  to  the  coast.  I  sniffed  its 
salt  on  our  return  with  the  same  joy  with 
which  we  had  greeted  the  mountains. 


'—meet  Spanish  romance — ' 


VI 


SO  O  N  E  R  or  later  we  a&ain  drifted 
up  to  the  Mission  Inn.  Third  Cousin 
Jiad  to  see  it,  —  although  he  did  not 
know  that!  We  wanted  him  to  walk  in 
unwarned,  as  we  once  had.  Well,  the 
experiment  was  successful.  We  saw 
Philadelphia  decorum  meet  Spanish 
romance  and  &o  down  before  it. 

While  he  wandered  ahout,  satisfied 
hut  inarticulate,  we  undertook  to  see  a 
hit  of  the  surrounding  country  this 
time.  Riverside  never  allows  itself  to 
&o  to  seed.  The  lovely  drives,  the 
parks,  the  orchards,  the  city  streets  are 
all  in  order.  But  I  like  our  own  country 
better;  I  should  miss  its  wildness  and 
ru^edness  at  Riverside. 

One  evening  just  before  dinner 
Gasoline,  VG,  and  I  climbed  Mount 
Rubidoux.  We  started  out  decorously 
enough  in  the  machine;  but  following  a 
sudden  whim  of  VG's  left  it  at  the  foot 
of  the  &rade  and  scrambled  up  the  trail 


The  Field  Glass 


that  short  cuts  to  the  top  in  some  twen- 
ty minutes.  The  machine  road  offers 
one  of  the  easiest  climbs  in  the  state,  I 
fancy.  It  is  wide  and  smooth,  with  a 
comforting  little  stone  fence  at  the  ed&e. 
But  that  evening  we  felt  like  playing 
pilgrim. 

While  one  climbs  it,  Rubidoux  is  a 
scra^&y  thing,  like  any  other  California 
mountain;  but  at  the  top  it  emerges  sud- 
denly in  a  splendid  pile  of  rock.  We  sat 
for  a  lon&  time  at  the  foot  of  the  cross, 
watching  the  valleys  around  us  change 
under  the  sunset. 

The  cross  is  for  Father  Serra;  and 
&ettin&  up  to  &o,  we  read  its  inscription 
in  the  fading  li&ht: 

Fra  Junipero  Serra 
1713-1784 

Dedicated 
April  26,  1907 

By 

Rt.  Rev.  Thomas  James  Conaty 

Bishop  of  Monterey  and  Los  Angeles 

In  the  presence  of 

Many  People. 


—emerged  suddenly  in  a  splendid  pile  of  rocks. 


The  Field  Glass 


All  &ood  thin&s  come  to  an  end,  and 
one  clear  morning  we  started  for  Los 
Angeles,  feeling  very  pleasantly  toward 
the  world.  But  through  some  mistake, — 
I  dare  not  even  yet  say  whose, —  we 
blundered  onto  the  wron&  road;  and  not 
until  we  reached  Claremont  did  we 
manage  to  turn  over  to  the  Foothill 
Boulevard,  that  entrancing  stretch  of 
perfect  highway  heloved  of  speeders 
and  timid  people  (for  somewhat  different 
reasons!).  By  that  time  we  were  quarrel- 
ing quite  violently.  Words  ran  hi&h.  It 
was  a  &ood  quarrel,  the  first  we  had  had 
since  Third  Cousin  joined  us.  We 
enjoyed  it. 

We  went  on  to  Los  Angeles  not 
speaking,  less  appreciative  of  the  charms 
of  Pasadena  than  we  mi&ht  otherwise 
have  been!  But  at  luncheon  we  were 
revived  somewhat. 

The  Cautious  Lady  loathes  Los 
An&eles.  She  hates  its  noise  and  con- 
fusion, its  narrow  streets,  its  reckless 
drivers,  its  peculiar  traffic  laws  and 
indifferent  policemen.  We  did  not  linger 
there. 

But  it  was  fairly  late  in  the  day, 
nevertheless,  when  we  started;  for  VG 


"Pretty  fair,"  we  agreed  easily  — 


The  Field  Glass 


had  delayed  us  in  the  pursuit  of  various 
small  feminine  necessities,  the  purchas- 
ing of  which  she  went  about  with  &reat 
cheerfulness  and  leisure.  Trusting  that 
speed  cops  and  arrest  were  remote  possi- 
bilities, Gasoline  gradually  sank  lower 
in  his  seat  and  indulged  to  the  full  his 
lon&  repressed  desire,  —  though  with 
one  incredulous  ear  turned  toward  the 
hack  seat,  where  The  Cautious  Lady 
for  once  was  sitting,.  But  she  and 
Third  Cousin  talked  too  busily  to  notice. 
"She  doesn't  know  how  fast  I'm 
&oin&  unless  she  sees  the  speedometer," 
grinned  Gasoline,  and  speeded  up  an- 
other notch. 

"Uncommonly  fine  road,1 'Third  Cousin 
interrupted  once  to  remark,  when  mile 
after  mile  of  the  smooth  highway  had 
slipped  behind  us. 

"Pretty  fair,"  we  agreed  easily,  blase 
on  the  subject  of  roads.  To  us,  the  coast 
highway  between  Los  Angeles  and 
San  Die&o,  marvelous  as  it  is,  with  its 
prosperous  orchards  and  pretty  towns, 
is  rather  tame. 

We  stopped  for  a  few  minutes  at 
San  Juan  Capistrano,  that  loveliest  of 
the  missions,  &lad  to  have  seen  it  before 


—that  loveliest  of  the  missions- 


-for  a  Touchstone  and  his  Audrey—' 


The  Field  Glass 


dozen  or  so  building  sites  up  on  the  hill, 
only  to  hear  that  it  has  already  been 
sold  to  some  eastern  millionaire  or  artist. 

Del  Mar  roads  ramble  at  will.  We 
wound  about  in  them,  lost  to  a  sense  of 
direction,  lost  to  a  sense  of  everything 
but  our  ever  recurring,  delight  in  the 
cliffs  and  the  ra^ed  trees  and  the  blue 
water  below  us.  Many  spots  have  one 
of  these  charms;  Del  Mar  has  them  all. 

All  manner  of  houses  are  tucked 
away  amon&  the  trees;  a  tiny  Japanese 
affair  plucked  bodily  from  some  art 
shop;  the  squat  and  rambling  California 
bungalow  at  its  best;  a  hu&e  and  formal 
country  residence  done  elaborately  in 
cement.  And  everywhere  trees.  One 
woman  has  cut  a  hole  in  her  roof  that  a 
&reat  old  eucalyptus  may  &row  on  un- 
disturbed. Would  that  all  our  city  fathers 
had  her  vision!  In  due  time  we  took 
Third  Cousin  over  to  the  Stratford 
Theatre,  rejoicing  in  his  exclamation  of 
surprise.  Greek  theatres,  amphitheatres, 
stadiums  abound  in  southern  California. 
But  Stratford  is  a  spot  set  aside  by 
nature  for  pageantry,  a  perfect  back- 
ground for  a  Touchstone  and  his 
Audrey.   Man's  work  is  hardly  visible. 


The  Field  Glass 


"I  should  not  stir  one  step  from  here," 
Third  Cousin  said  almost  regretfully  at 
luncheon,  "if  I  had  not  come  to  think  of 
Coronado  as  home,  and  the  hotel  there 
almost  as  my  own.  It's  a  deuced  bother 
to  have  so  many  places  pulling  at  your 
heartstrings   at   once.    You    should   be 

content  with  one And 

they  are  so  preposterously  &ood  to  you 
there,"  he  added  as  we  drove  away, 
looking  hack  at  the  bi&  inn  in  its  setting, 
of  &or&eous  cannas. 

Once  more  on  our  way  into  San  Die&o, 
we  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  top  of 
Torrey  Pine  &rade.  To  some,  this  friz- 
zled cliff,  with  its  freakish,  wind-torn 
trees,  is  one  of  the  most  loved  spots  in 
the  county. 

The  sun  shone  that  morning!  The 
stretch  of  road  between  Del  Mar  and 
La  Jolla  was  a  thin&  to  move  one  to 
silence,  poetry,  or  tears,  according  to 
temperament.  In  the  spring  the  hills  are 
&reen,  and  lovely  with  hu&e  patches  of 
yellow  mustard.  But  in  August  the 
ocean  is  a  deeper  blue  if  possible,  and 
the  Maxfield  Parrish  cliffs  stand  out 
even  more  clearly  against  the  sky. 


VII 


WE  were  down  on  tke  breakwater. 
The  Cautious  Lady,  Third 
Cousin,  and  I.  We  sat  on  the 
rocks  and  watched  the  little  &reen  crabs 
scrabbling,  about  in  a  pool  at  our  feet. 

"You  will  never  for&et  this  place," 
she  said. 

"You  need  not  remind  me  of  that 
fact,"  he  replied  sharply.  "The  memory 
of  it  will  haunt  me  until  I  come  a&ain. 
I  shall  be  unfit  for  a  man's  work." 

He  had  lingered  on  through  the  sum- 
mer and  fall,  loathe  to  &o,  running  up  I 
dreaded  to  think  how  much  of  a  bill. 
We  had  &one  on  many  jaunts  into  the 
back  country,  or  Mexico,  or  up  the  coast; 
sometimes  coming  back  to  Coronado  for 
the  ni&ht,  sometimes  staying  away  two 
days,  three  days,  a  week. 

Charmed  and  amazed  at  the  climate, 
he  at  first  refused  to  believe  that  it 
could  be  so  perfect  all  through  the  year. 


The  Field  Glass 


But  as  the  weeks  passed  he  gradually 
came  to  admit  it. 

"I  never  want  to  g,o  back,"  he  said.  "I 
shall  have  rheumatism  all  winter  in 
Philadelphia."  He  be&an  to  talk  about 
lots  and  the  cost  of  building. 

But  now  certain  letters  had  come  and 
he  was  leaving  on  the  afternoon  train. 

As  we  walked  across  the  sand  to  the 
hotel  it  may  have  been  fancy  of  course, 
but  I  thought  he  cleared  his  throat 
unnecessarily  hard  as  he  looked  back 
over  his  shoulder  toward  Point  Loma. 


J 


*r) 


YC   l'5! 


♦> 


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